Maria
by Ava Drake
Summary: MARIA. All over the world, at various crime scenes, the name MARIA has been scrawled on the mirrors. And now she's moved on to London. The name MARIA is written on the mirror of an alleged thief. It's up to Sherlock to decipher this code, and figure out just who, or what, MARIA is.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey guys! This is one of my fanfics that is really popular on Wattpad, so I decided to post it here as well. Enjoy!**

"And just who is Maria?" Sherlock asked Mycroft.  
Mycroft gave a small tolerant smile. "We don't know."  
"You don't know?" Sherlock asked, amused.  
"No." Mycroft said, his voice full of annoyance.  
"Ah. I see why you need me."  
"I don't think you do. You see, this 'Maria' person is _everywhere._ Her name has been found in several crime scenes the world over."  
"How do you know it isn't an organisation?"  
"The font is the same. And it's always written the same way."  
Sherlock's eyebrow raised. "How, exactly?"  
Mycroft passed over a few photos. Each contained a mirror with the word 'Maria' scrawled in red lipstick. "We've run tests," Mycroft said, as Sherlock flicked through, "It's the same lipstick each time. Same handwriting too."  
"Hmm." Sherlock paused. "Why now?"  
"Pardon?"  
"Why bring this to my attention _now_?"  
"We have," Mycroft sighed. "Reason to believe that Maria will be moving here next, if she isn't here already."  
"Why?"  
Mycroft passed him another set of pictures. Sherlock frowned.  
There were three photos. One of Mycroft and one of a criminal Sherlock knew very well. If these weren't enough to make Sherlock pause, the last one was. It was of him. Sherlock frowned. Each photo had been written over in scrawling letters. MARIA.  
He looked at the actual image of him, and deduced the night that it had been taken was less than a week ago – Mrs Hudson had moved the table slightly just recently.  
"The other two were taken within the last week too," Mycroft informed him.  
Sherlock looked back at him. "Are we her targets?"  
Mycroft shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine. This woman has proved to be completely unpredictable – if it even is a woman. We have _nothing _on her."  
"Nothing?" Sherlock was impressed. Mycroft had files on _everyone_. For this girl to commit such complex crimes, and get away scot free was impressive in itself, but to leave _nothing _for Mycroft? Very impressive. He tilted his head. "What do you want me to do?"  
"Nothing. Yet. We'll have to wait for her to make the next move."  
Sherlock frowned. "What about him?" he asked, nodding to the third picture.  
"Well, I see no reason to inform him." Mycroft replied.  
Sherlock nodded. He had no wish to seek out the third 'target'. Sherlock smiled as he departed. Hopefully, this one would prove to be a worthy adversary. But if her pick of targets were any indication, she would be. It took skill to photograph the Consulting Detective, not to mention the British Intelligence. And it was harder still to take a picture of the Consulting Criminal. For the last picture was of none other than Jim Moriarty.


	2. Chapter 2

"Have fun?" John asked, looking up from his newspaper as Sherlock entered the room.  
"Lots," Sherlock replies sarcastically. John chuckled and went back to reading. Sherlock frowned and got out his violin. He needed something to help him think over and the violin always seemed to help. He began playing what John considered to be his favourite piece. John believed that, because of the repetition of the song, Sherlock was 'in love' with the piece. Sherlock continued playing, and musing on the 'Maria' case Mycroft had given him. It seemed to be an interesting one, especially if Mycroft was stumped. He allowed himself a small smile as he looked out the window. Poor Mycroft. His smile slipped. Hopefully the 'Maria' character would appear soon. He was _bored. _How long would it be before she struck? Assuming she even would strike. Mycroft hadn't been certain. Those photos could be a distraction. He continued to play, his fingers dancing over the strings. Thinking more on the photographs, he wondered. This Maria, whomever it be, had managed to find Moriartyand _take a photo _of him. This was no idle distraction. Whoever had done this was proving their worth. "_Look at me,"_ they seemed to say, "_I know how to get to two of the most powerful men in Britain." _Maria, whoever it is, was a show off. He changed the tune he was playing. Unless, of course, Moriarty was playing another one of his games. He could have easily taken photos of Mycroft and himself, and it wasn't as if Sherlock was hard to find. John had made sure of that. Sherlock was unsure though, it didn't seem to be Moriarty's type of game. He changed tune again. Besides, the lipstick? The name Maria? Especially written all over the world. Moriarty wasn't the type to focus outside of his domain. And currently, his domain was Britain. To go sightseeing as this Maria figure had was clearly out of the question, but Sherlock couldn't rule out the idea that Maria worked for or with Moriarty. That would explain how she or he was able to photograph Moriarty. That would not, however, explain _why _she, or he, had sent the photo to Mycroft. What would Maria gain from it? What would Moriarty gain from it? Surely he didn't expect them to unite against a common foe. Sherlock began another piece, and focussed back on the name. MARIA. An acronym. He frowned. He would need more information to fill in the blanks if it was such. Or a name. Maria. A very common name, over many different cultures. Most commonly a girl's name, but could sometime be male. There was nothing to gain from the name. So he had nothing. He felt the smile work its way back onto his face. Finally, a challenge.


	3. Chapter 3

The call came early the next day.  
"It's begun," Mycroft said, then gave him details and a location. A man, apparently, was guilty of stealing some jewels or such. The man, of course, pleaded innocent, and practically begged them to search his apartment. Sherlock didn't care. The problem was that, when they went to search the man's apartment for the jewel, they found the word MARIA scrawled on the wall in lipstick.  
"Coming?" Sherlock asked John.  
"Coming? Where?" John asked, confused. "Who was that on the phone?"  
"A case, John!" Sherlock declared happily, "A case."  
Resignation settled in John's eyes. "Where are we going?"

They arrived at the apartment fifteen minutes later. It was swarming with police.  
"Found the jewels yet?" Sherlock asked as Lestrade approached them.  
"How…How did you find out about this? I didn't call you. This was supposed to be a private investigation."  
"Oh, very 'private'," Sherlock said, eyeing the police tape around the area.  
"You know what I mean!" Lestrade replied.  
"Why are you here?" John asked. "This isn't your department, is it?"  
"The mirror," Sherlock interrupted. "The man accused of the crime, he's guilty."  
"What?" Lestrade demanded. "How do you know about the mirror?"  
"I know that the man accused of stealing the jewels is the murderer. There's a word, written in lipstick on the mirror – Maria. This isn't the first time this had happened, Lestrade, look it up."  
With that he stormed past the detective and entered the apartment.

Lestrade sighed. "You know, I don't mind it when he helps, it's the disrespect that gets to me."  
John nodded in empathy, and followed Sherlock into the apartment.

The accused man was in the corner.  
"Be careful with that," he told to one police officer, who had picked up a vase. "You've searched everywhere," he told Lestrade. "I'm telling you, I didn't steal any jewels!"  
"Just precaution." Lestrade told him. "You have the motive and no alibi."  
"I didn't know I'd need an alibi!" the man responded. "If I had, I would have called my girlfriend, rather than stay home all night!"  
Sherlock ignored the bickering and examined the mirror. There it was, written in red. Maria. Sherlock frowned. Something wasn't right. He pulled out the photos for comparison. The word. It should be in capitals. Why would she change now, he wondered.  
"That was odd," John murmured to him.  
"Odd?" Sherlock asked distractedly, wondering about the change in pattern.  
"What do you mean this happened before? How did you know about the writing? Does this have to do with Mycroft?"  
"Everything has to do with Mycroft," Sherlock said. _Why change the pattern now? _And the crime. The others were verified crime scenes. Yet this was one that was only accused. The writing verified his guiltiness, but why? Why not a murder or something like that? He realised John was still talking.  
"Really, John, can't you see I'm busy? Go play with the police officers or something."  
John frowned. "You know Sherlock, you can be really rude sometimes."  
Sherlock gave him a look, then returned back to the mirror. John made a noise and walked over to Lestrade. Something else too. Was this a test? A test, yes, that made sense. _Let's test the great Sherlock and see if he's worth the effort. _Would the others receive a test too? Mycroft and Moriarty? Maybe, or maybe only if he failed. He better not fail then. Something else was wrong with it.  
"Ah." He said.  
Everyone froze.  
"Uh. What's up Sherlock?" John asked.  
"Look at the name, John." Sherlock said.  
"It's just a name."  
"Yes, but _look _at it! Can you see it? It should be easy for you?"  
"I don't see anything, Sherlock." John replied firmly.  
Sherlock sighed. "Of course you wouldn't. Look at where we are. Searching for missing jewels. Now look at the name. More specifically, the i."  
"I don't…It's a normal 'i' Sherlock."  
"No. It- It isn't! Look at the dot!"  
"What about it?" John asked annoyed.  
"It's a circle. I mean look at it," he ranted. "She clearly did this in a hurry, look how messy it is. And for some reason she chose lower case letters, instead," he presented the photos, "of upper case ones."  
"How did you get those?" Lestrade demanded. "Those are classified-"  
"Please Lestrade, I'm busy," Sherlock cut in.  
"So it's lower case."  
Sherlock sighed louder. "It's a circle. The case is the clue. It's smaller for a reason. The 'i'. The dot."  
"It's a circle."  
"Exactly! It's a circle! Why, in a rush, would she stop and draw a perfect circle?"  
"I-"  
"You wouldn't! Unless it was a clue."  
"That still doesn't help us."  
"I…" Sherlock was at a loss to answer his friend's stupidity. "Of course it helps us! It's…It's like one of those children's books. When you find the difference, you circle it."  
"Sherlock, honestly. You are making no sense at all."  
Sherlock stepped backwards, then jumped behind the couch, watching his actions in the mirror. "If I'm correct, and I usually am, the jewels will be…here." He said, and let his hand smash through the green wallpaper, into a hidden safety spot. Sherlock's hand enclosed around a small bag, and he pulled it out. "See?" he said.  
There was a silence.  
"Is that?" John began.  
"The jewels?" Sherlock pulled a face. "Yes. But that doesn't matter."  
"I'd say it does," Lestrade interrupted, as he grabbed the accused man. "You're under arrest."  
"No," Sherlock said, chucking a police officer the jewels. "What matters is, I have a new case." And he smiled.


	4. Chapter 4

"So, wait," John said, sitting back in his chair in the apartment. "Because the 'i' wasn't dotted, you realised it was a clue."  
Sherlock sighed. "It was more than that, but basically yes."  
"But-"  
"People are essentially lazy," Sherlock interrupted. "To draw a circle that precise needed concentration and no one would put that much effort into it unless it was important."  
"Ah." John said, not completely understanding, but knowing that he was as close as he'd ever be to it.  
Sherlock tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair. What now? He'd solved the clue. So what, another crime? Did he prove himself to her?  
His thoughts were interrupted by his phone going off. He contemplated ignoring it, but reluctantly took it out.  
'Private Number' it read.  
Sherlock sighed and opened it. "Mycroft, I-"  
"I'm not Mycroft," a silky voice interrupted.  
Sherlock straightened, causing John to give him a look.  
"Hello then. Who is this?"  
He heard a laugh. "I'm Maria." She told him.  
"You're Maria?" Sherlock said. John was definitely staring at him.  
"Don't I know it," she replied. "That was smart. Earlier."  
"Thank you," he said.  
"It'll be fun playing with you."  
"Playing?"  
"The game," she said, extravagantly.  
"The game?"  
"Oh yes. Oh!" she said, as if she'd just remembered. "Your prize."  
"My prize?"  
"A question. Any question."  
"Who are you?"  
She gave a sad laugh. "Oh. I hoped for better. I already told you. I'm Maria."  
"And what _is _Maria?"  
"Shh," she said. "You've already used your question. But don't worry, I'll give you the opportunity to win a lot more. I'll be in touch."  
There was the sound of the phone disconnecting.  
Sherlock frowned at it.  
"Who was that?" John asked, trying to sound non-chalant.  
Sherlock put away the phone. "Wrong number," he lied and walked away.


	5. Chapter 5

The call from Mycroft came a little later. Sherlock decided to withhold most of the information he'd discovered – including the call claiming to be from Maria. Mycroft could figure it out himself. After the call, Sherlock had time to think over 'Maria's' call. A game, she called it. Another thing she has in common with Moriarty then. But to be so obvious in it…Maybe she has no connection to him after all. He frowned. She offered him a prize. A question. He had wasted it, he realised now. He would be prepared next time. Next time. She had told him there would be a next time. Another crime then. How soon? It would, assuredly, be much harder than her trial run. This next one would also be a murder, he was sure. Her test had been something trivial, next would be something more complicated. And what was more complicated to unravel than a murder, he thought to himself. He looked out the window. Somewhere, out there, Maria was planning her next move. She was going to make this as hard as possible for him. He allowed himself a small smile. _I'm waiting. _

Sherlock closed his eyes and aimed the gun at the wall.

"Now, stop that," John chided. "Poor Mrs Hudson. She just got that wall fixed."  
"_Bored_!" Sherlock whined, getting up from the couch. "She said she'd do something! But what's it been now, three weeks? _Bored_!"  
John looked at him from over his cereal. "You do realise that I have no idea what you're talking about?"  
Sherlock felt like shaking him. "Maria! I'm talking about Maria, of course!"  
"Maria? You mean that…that case with the thief?"  
Sherlock pulled a face. "Yes I mean that 'case with the thief,' he mimicked childishly. "She said she'd do something!"  
"Sherlock, calm down. You're not making any sense."  
"Oh, who needs to make sense?" he asked, collapsing back on the couch.  
The phone rang.  
"You, uh, going to get that?" John asked.  
Sherlock turned away from him to face the back of the couch. John sighed and got up to answer it.  
"Yup? Right. Okay good. I'll tell him." He looked at Sherlock, his hand over the mouthpiece. "It's Lestrade. You were right. That Maria has struck again."


	6. Chapter 6

Sherlock stormed into the hospital, John close at his heels. Lestrade caught up with him.  
"What have we got?" Sherlock asked as he walked through the familiar corridors of St Bartholomew's Hospital.  
"Someone snuck in here, actually snuck into the morgue-"  
"If you'll skip the commentary," Sherlock said.  
"Oh, sorry," Lestrade retorted.  
"Don't worry about it. Facts!"  
"Someone snuck into the morgue, with a mirror, and wrote Maria on the mirror. Oh, and she left a note."  
"A note?"  
"For you?"  
"Ooh," Sherlock said as he turned into the morgue. There was a bunch of police officers, photographing and looking for fingerprints. "Out!" Sherlock demanded. There was a pause.  
Lestrade sighed. "You heard the man. Out you get."  
There was a general noise of disapproval, which Sherlock ignored as he walked toward the mirror.  
The mirror was full length, with a golden frame. It was beautiful, and heavy, Sherlock thought. For someone to carry it in would be a tremendous effort.  
"You said they snuck in the mirror?"  
"Yes."  
"It's too heavy."  
"That's what I thought, but if you try-"  
Sherlock stepped forward and lifted it. "It's lighter than it looks," he commented.  
"Yes." Lestrade said.  
"Hmm," Sherlock said, looking at the actual mirror itself. The word MARIA was written on it, in capital letters this time, so no clue there. But then, he ducked down to read this, in smaller letters was writing, still in lipstick – "Sherlock, sorry for the wait! Don't worry, this game was worth it. Maria, XOXO"  
Sherlock frowned and stood up. "How did they sneak in? Wasn't there an attendant?"  
Lestrade nodded. "She's in the office."

Sherlock entered the office and almost sighed.  
"Molly."  
"Sherlock?" asked the crying woman. "What, what are you doing here?"  
"There's been a crime, Molly, think!"  
"Sherlock!" John scolded. "Sorry about him, Molly."  
"It's…It's alright, really."  
"See, John she's fine. Now what happened?"  
Molly blinked, and Sherlock scowled. "Whenever you're ready," he said sarcastically. Three weeks of pent up energy was racing through him; he didn't have time for coddling.  
"I…I got a text…"  
"A text? From whom?"  
Molly got out her phone. "M-my boss."  
Sherlock read the text, then turned away. "Thank you. You've been a great help."  
Molly gave a relieved smile as he departed, Lestrade and John following.  
"Video footage?" Sherlock asked. "I assume there is some?"  
"Ah, yes." Lestrade said, processing his words. "Follow me."

Sherlock sat in front of the monitor and watched the figure – clad in black, carry in the mirror, placing it and hastily write the note in lipstick. She then turned, bowed to the camera, straightened and blew a kiss, before fleeing the scene. Sherlock frowned.  
"I assume you found no dna? Skin fragments and the like?"  
"Well, that _was _what my men were trying to do before you kicked them out, but no. She'd covered her tracks pretty well."  
"She snuck into the hospital wearing an incredibly suspicious outfit and carrying a full length mirror. She managed to get past _everyone _including security and doctors and patients alike without anyone noticing her, not to mention all the cameras posted around, which I assume came up with nothing as well. She then managed to fake a text message to the morgue attendant to get her out of the room, and you think she covered her tracks 'pretty well?'"  
There was a silence. "Well, ah, yes, when you put it like that…"  
Sherlock sighed and put the footage on repeat.  
"What's that?" he asked, as he watched her put down the mirror.  
"What?" John asked.  
"She hesitated. Just for a second. When she put down the mirror."  
"Well, maybe she was tired." Lestrade said.  
"Tired? Lestrade, you felt how light that mirror was. It wasn't tiredness. This woman managed to sneak into the _morgue. _No, it was something else." He frowned and tapped the screen. "Who's that?"  
"I don't…"  
Sherlock stood up suddenly. "Go get Molly. I think I have a lead."


End file.
